


Clint, Give It To Me!

by Be_Inspired



Series: Peter Parker Says the Darnest Things [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 21:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be_Inspired/pseuds/Be_Inspired
Summary: Children seldom misquote. In fact, they usually repeat word for word what you shouldn’t have said. – Unknown-“During that fight with Thanos... When you say,” By now, Peter had turned around on his stool to face him, much to T’Challa’s horror.“’Clint, give it to me!’ What does it mean?”Really, T’Challa should have known better to watch his speech especially in front of Peter Parker. Even if he was in the midst of fighting to save the world from total obliteration.





	Clint, Give It To Me!

**Author's Note:**

> Oooh man. I could only imagine Peter picking up all the unnecessariness during battle.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

“So, Your Highness..?” Peter drawled over his half chewed pancake.

Behind, the coffee cup, said king tensed. In instant, the grip on the cup holder tightened with more force than necessary. He didn’t have to turn to see Peter eyeing him with morbid curiosity. If there was anyone in the universe that could combine childish curiosity and cruelty into a smooth concoction, no lump, that person would be Peter.

The feeling of Deja-Vu rammed into him like a truck carrying forbidden weapon, let say, Kryptonite for example. The kitchen, Peter and sweet breakfast. Cold sweat trickled from the side of his forehead despite the just-nice temperature inside the kitchen and T’Challa couldn’t ignore how his poor heart rabitting inside his chest.

Suddenly, the king of the technological advance nation felt like he was Superman and Peter was the angry villager with Kryptonite embedded into his pitchfork.

Luckily, everyone else shared the same sentiment. Each minds racing to recollect any bits and pieces of memory they could find, just in case any of them have behaved, well, inappropriate before the teenager, enough for the teen’s wicked nature to bloom like dandelion during spring season. Peter was a sharp kid who made Steve's highschool test result looked fairly pathetic. But his sharpness sometimes, implied at the wrong place, at the wrong time which easily caused mightiest heroes to fidget on their seats. Some even shuddered under his intense scrutinising look.

T’Challa was involved, definitely. No point saving the poor bloke, and nobody wanted to share the same fate. Avengers or no Avengers. So if any of them really did something, for example, making a lewd expression while battling Thanos’ army, then, they were both goners.

“Yes, Mr. Parker..?” The smile was fake, obviously. T’Challa felt his cheeks hurting. Never in his life could have thought that faking a smile would be this hard.

“During that fight with Thanos... When you say,” By now, Peter had turned around on his stool to face him, much to T’Challa’s horror.

“... ‘Clint, give it to ME!’”

T’Challa closed his eyes as he listened to someone—or more than one—snorted their scrambled eggs. And someone slipped down the floor in uncontrolled manner. It sounded like Tony. Or better, it sounded like Tony slipping while carrying little Morgan.

“What does it mean?” Peter finished up. Kid even had the gall to sip on his orange juice, only to make a face seconds later when he deemed it was too sour for his taste. 

He didn’t know how the other was feeling. But as for him, if there was a bucket of water in front of him, T’Challa would happily submerge his head inside. 

There was a scrap noise by chair’s legs against the floor, the kind of slow drag that sent liquid chill to everyone’s spine. Surprisingly, it wasn’t T’Challa’s chair considering he was still seated, still in dilemma, still calculating on how long it would take to capture Spiderman in his full speed and strength before the coffee goes cold. Hate to say it, but the coffee made by Tony was really something else.

Not surprisingly, it was Clint who has just stood up.

In general, Clint was an alright kind of guy. But there was something about the way he silently stood up or the way he exhaled almost soundlessly that made the temperature inside the room to drop significantly, enough for Peter to throw the remaining of his juice into the sink and straightened up. It appeared that all of his senses at the moment were telling him that something was wrong. Clint’s new hairstyle, tattoos and slightly gloomy demeanour helped nothing but to intensify the feeling.

The second Clint turned to face the youngest of the member in deliberate slowness, Peter’s senses were already screaming and kicking the teen in the gut, anything at all to make Peter to do some sort of desperate, life threatening kind of move.

_‘Fleeee! Ruuunnn!’_

Peter listened to his instinct and had learned from last time. He was already off his chair and went to make himself scarce. Barely two seconds later, Clint followed suit, hot on his heels, bow in his hand. He took two Cranberry Butter Cookies and a glass of milk with him before he went off.

... Which was odd. Because last time they checked, Clint was in his casual shirt and jeans, free of bow and arrows when stepped into the kitchen. They hated to imagine Clint driving around the town and went to buy milk and eggs at the grocery store with bows and arrows hidden beneath his shirt. 

Everyone apparently was too tired to ponder over the mystery.

It took barely less than three minutes for Peter’s scream to fill every nook and every cranny inside Avengers tower. Although born without super power or biological and physically enhanced, Clint could be deadly when he wanted to be.

On forth minute, T’Challa placed down his cup, stood up and smoothed down his robe.

“You gonna joint the hunt?” Bucky eyed the king from behind his fork, a slight smirk pulling the corner of his lips tight.

T’Challa narrowed his eyes. Insufferable fool was laughing at him. He should change the sedative next time the super soldier goes for his cybernetic arm checkup for something less innocent and let Bucky to wonder around in another country with no memory and pants-less and see how the man likes it.

“No.” T’Challa replied without a hint of malice in his voice, just to see Bucky’s fur ruffled. Today, the Panther king felt like breaking unspoken social rule and normal customs.

Of course. _Crazy sounds about right..._

“I’m going to save him.”

With long strides, the Wakandan left the rest of the Avengers with disturbed emotions and confused on how to respond.

On brighter side, Morgan Stark was safe and sound. Steve had managed to pluck the child out of Tony’s hold before she could share the same fate as his father. On less brighter side however, the blonde suffered a minor nose bleed and miniature concussion in the process when Morgan accidentally head butted the man in the chin. 

Then again, she was wearing the Iron Man helmet replica.

** xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx **

T’Challa wasn’t surprised to see Peter’s lower half suspended from the opened ceiling vent sometimes later when he was searching for the teen, legs flailing in desperation. That explained the lack of volume of Peter’s scream. Apparently, Clint was in the middle of dragging the boy into it when the king managed to grab and pull Peter away from his fate in one quick tug on his legs. The king couldn’t stop himself from associating the situation with a third rate horror movie, more so when the archer slash former top S.H.I.E.L.D agent was oozing with undisguised homicidal intent.

Not exactly the right time, but the panther king was actually amused.

Still, he remembered the way the hair of the back of his neck bristled when inside the vent, where the space was dark and murky, the glint in Clint’s eyes appeared to be prominent more than ever. T’Challa sure didn’t look back as he hauled Peter over his shoulder and continued frog marching him towards the place where the sun shone on and, well, far away from the any vent.

... They ended up outside on the ground, fifty yards away from the building.

As soon as T’Challa loosened his hold for Peter to find his bearing back, the king almost regretted his decision on place. Peter Parker wasn’t by any mean light weight. And though physically enhanced, T’Challa has never included carrying a full grown teenager for straight five minutes into his workout routine and all those running, skidding around the corner and jumping over the rails has, T’Challa hated to admit, left his breathless.

Superman aside, now T’Challa felt like he was James Bond all over.

When Peter caught his open stare, the teen quickly flinched away only to stumble slightly before he steadied himself against the tree next to him. “I’m sorry! So please don’t get mad...”

It was hard to believe the sincerity of the apology, behind the pinched lips that kept his laughter from escaping and how Peter didn’t exactly look him in the eye.

“You’re not sorry.” T’Challa concluded, tidying his robe so it fell into place. He didn’t use his suit this time, which explained his out of breath state.

“Sorry.” Peter finally looked up and gave a sheepish smile. Because of the sprint, his hair now was sticking towards all direction which only emphasized the childish nature.“For not being sorry..?”

There was something about the way Peter smiled and the simplicity behind his gaze that invoked memories flashing through his mind. It made him paused, think and stayed still. It made him see Shuri, in her much younger self, where she annoyed, interfered and being particular in pretty much everything. The same Shuri who lingered within his orbit, monopolized his time and wouldn’t allow him to shower in peace. Shuri who loved games and tricks as much as seeing him snorting his food through his nostril.

He wondered if deep inside, the teen, like Shuri, unconsciously seen this as part of a game and he was seeking those who enjoyed it and defined fun the same way as he did. 

“Have you been to Wakanda, Mr. Parker?”

Caught off guard, it took five seconds more than necessary for said teen to process. “...what?”

“Wakanda.” T’Challa repeated albeit slower. “Technological advance, somewhere in Africa, birth of Vibranium—”

“No, no, no. I know what Wakanda is.” Confusion created lines in between the teens’ eyebrows. Peter was still perceptive of his surroundings, eyes darting left and right as well as above him, in between the heavy branches, just in case Clint managed to make his way there without him noticing. “No, I haven’t been to—”

“Do you want to come to Wakanda? A quick visit?”

Peter looked at T’Challa like the king had just asked him if he wanted to snort cocaine together. In a most elegant manner of speaking.

“What? Why?” The neurons were firing inside his head and it didn’t take long for Peter to reach a conclusion, the worst possible case that could befall on him, and lesser time for his senses to kick back. “You’re angry, aren’t you...”

Holding his hands up, T’Challa hoped it was an act of consolation. Or, he was being ready in case Peter rabitted. “Calm down, Mr. Parker. You’re not in trouble.” The Panther King paused momentarily, shook his head and smiled. “Actually, you remind me of someone very important to me.”

“.. Thank you?”

“I think,” Hands down, T’Challa linked his fingers behind his back. “Shuri would very much enjoy your company.”

Of its volition, Peter’s eye twitched in almost disbelief. “Shuri? Your sister? The brain behind all your technology?” When the king nodded, his instinct forced him to flatten himself against the tree, so far that the tree shook, the leaves fluttered only to be swept by the wind and few bird nests shifted slightly from their placement. “No way!”

“Why not?” This time, it was T’Challa’s turn to cork his head to the side in mock confussion.

“Because!” After a minute of flailing his arms and panicking with no sign of the king in understanding his inner turmoil, the teens’ shoulders slumped. “She wouldn’t want me around. She’ll think I’m lame.”

In front of the king, Peter shifted his weight in between his left and right leg, almost mimicking a tiny dance as the king closed the distance by a step. Rather than Shuri, it felt like he was approaching a wary feline. “You’re not lame, Mr. Parker. At least, I don’t agree that you’re one. And neither would my sister.” 

T’Challa placed a hand on top of the teens’ shoulder and stared deep into his eyes. Outside, under the shade of a large tree, the king noticed Peter’s brown eyes appeared one tone lighter.”You’re a brilliant person. And kind in your own way. Never let anyone tell you different.”

The words sunk in slowly. Peter stopped fidgeting albeit keeping his gaze down. “You guys are kind...”

“I think you’re mistaking us as cool rather than kind. Most of us here, we do what we do,” T’Challa straightened up, brought his hands back to his side and breathed out. “Out of sense of duty. Redemption. But you’re different.”

Peter was about to open his mouth when the king approached him again with earlier intention. “So when can I pick you up? Does tomorrow morning sound good?”

“Um, actually...”

“What is it? You don’t want to come to Wakanda? Shall I pick you up here or at Queen?”

“No! I mean, yes! I’d love to go there. And Queen is fine. But—but I don’t have a passport.”

The look on T’Challa face was a crossover between disbelief and amusement. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. You did go to German and space after all.” With a nonchalant smile, T’Challa began walking back to the tower, his long coat fluttered behind him, his footfall barely made any noise on the grass.

“I was a stowaway that time!” Still on his spot, Peter shouted at the man. Even with his back turned against the teen, Peter could have sworn the man was smiling.

T’Challa didn’t bother to turn as he responded, “So were Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers.”

**\--The End--**


End file.
